Whatever it takes
by GreenNebulae
Summary: The only thing good about summer, at least to Moran, was that Watson walked around with his shirt open and sleeves rolled up. By the end of his first term with Watson, he grows to cherish the heat, for it's the closest he'll ever get to his captain. That is, until Jim makes him an offer. "Do well enough and I'll get him for you" MoranxJohn RareShipBingo Gold Oneshot for now


**TheDarkestShinobi:** Rare Ship Bingo! I liked this so much more than I thought I would after I wrote it out. I'm just imagining a longer story of viciousness from Jim and Moran but Moran doing worse and worse for the thought of John and Moriarty actually is able to manipulate John to be _into_ Moran. Ugh. Maybe this summer I'll think about extending this. It also depends if any other readers are interest.

NOTE: This first part kind of falls perfectly in my other Moran/John ish piece: Sides. It's an interesting story that basically is all about John and Moran in the war and then afterwards.

 _ **Prompt:**_ Gold

 _ **Pairing**_ : John/Moran

 **Start**

Sebastian Moran hated the summer with a passion he thought he wasn't capable of. His gear got ridiculously damp and sticky in those heated hours, days, weeks, ugh, it infuriates him to think of it. As a sniper, he had to grow very used to being still, and in one place for hours at a time, and he was excellent at it, but in the summer when he had to be still while feeling the sweat drops slowly travel was a new kind of torture.

He moves to lean against the wall of the half destroyed building to take advantage of the shade. He shakes his head watching the rest of his unit move around. Gator, Puppy, they all ended up getting nicknames at one point or another so he figured he'd get one soon. His eyes seek out the reason he's here, good old Captain Watson, and he smirks as he finds the golden boy.

" _My men are getting picked off." Moran's commanding officer reads out. He lifts the paper higher as he continued. "Just send me one sniper, the best we have." He lowers the paper. "That's you. Captain Watson has been making tremendous progress, so we're going to do everything we can to keep it that way."_

He was moved from his original, cushier station to go and help out Fusiliers, formerly Northumberland, but dismantled in '68. He'd heard about those guys before. They cleared out town after town, his commanding officer used to joke about giving them gold stars. Unfortunately they were being held up at this last one under some decent sniper fire, which is where he would hopefully come in. The interesting thing about them was their Captain, John Watson. He'd heard a lot about Watson before he left. He heard that John Watson is the type of guy who can shoot your attacker between the eyes with a handgun, patch himself and you up at once, and then carry you both out without another sound.

He was excited but that excitement died in the terrible heat of the country. The group was constantly moving and no one else seemed to be bothered by any of this. Moran made his displeasure known, the scorching heat that lingered in the night did nothing to let him sleep easy and the fact that some of the rooftops would have melting parts made being on them for hours a nightmare. The only thing good about summer, at least to Moran, was that Watson walked around with his shirt open and sleeves rolled up.

He learned that John Watson was the fucking golden boy, he really was. Watson didn't look that much older than he did, but he was already both the captain and the doctor of his unit, moving quickly through town after town. John asked for help and it came in an instant. John would play it down, _We're lucky it's all uninhabited_ or _It's my men not me_ but that really just made people like him better. Moran is relatively new to this country, only in his first term, but he already feels like this is the best person to serve under.

Moran resists the urge to shift against the wall, but he lets his eyes follow John as he moved around. He is literally a golden boy too. His hair had been dyed by the years in the sun, his skin a dark tan he'd never sustain in England. All of this offset by blue eyes. Moran found himself developing an early attraction to the captain. It didn't help that John's heart was entirely made up of gold too.

…

"I'm not hungry." Moran speaks as soon as he smells the food, sill not taking his eyes off of the scope. John's distracted him though, Moran shifts slightly. He can feel the formerly stationary drops of sweat jolt and run down his skin.

"I don't care; you haven't eaten in a day and a half." John scolds as he sits on the ledge, still holding the food.

"Busy." Moran responds a few seconds later. He's still in the scope, trying to make John's voice disappear. John sighs before looking out into the other part of town. Moran can feel John's gaze like a weight, as solid and persistent as the sweat on his shoulder blades.

"Take a break." John orders and Moran can't resist rolling his eyes. He's glad for the attention, but wishes it were at a better time.

"You've given me high profile target to take out. I can't move. I could miss him." Moran explains. It needed to be a one shot kill. The man had some information that needed to die with him. Moran had already suffered enough on this roof; he didn't want to have to start over.

"I could take watch." Moran huffs and John shakes his head. "I've shot a rifle before." His tone is defensive and raising. Moran knows John can shoot, he's got a lethal aim, another golden star on the board for him, but this is Moran's specialty. Besides, John would burn himself on the roof with the way his shirt is hanging open now.

"Not like me." Moran's cockiness had never been attractive but it causes John to snort.

"Just eat!" John all but shouts and Moran sucks on the gum in his mouth. The two stay in silence, John closing his shirt, until Moran drops his shoulders. John and Moran switch places and John gets comfortable lying on the roof as he looks through the scope. He props himself up on his elbows and watches for movement while Moran eats while staring at John's backside and shaking his head.

While it isn't any concern he wouldn't have shown for anyone else, its more concern than Moran's ever received and Moran finds himself looking forward to their rooftop chats more and more. In fact, by the end of his first term with Watson, he grows to cherish the heat, for it's the closest he'll ever get to his captain.

…

Even when it gets uncomfortable in England, Moran can be comforted by the fact that it'll never be that bad again. Like right now, when the beads of sweat on the back of his neck begin to roll onto his back, he can be perfectly still because at least it's not as terrible as laying on a half melted roof and feeling like you were also melting. Moriarty likes that. Moriarty likes to make him lie still while he piles things on top of him, like staplers, tennis balls, weaponry. He really is working for a child sometimes. Moriarty also likes Moran to stand pin still during meetings when everyone else is shifting and sweating, even when Moriarty has been too still and has to move, Moran is an unmoving statue. It pleases Moriarty because it unnerves everyone else. My machine, he would say, my man of steel.

He supposes it's alright, because Sherlock has the man of gold.

Moran looks through his binoculars to spy on Sherlock per Moriarty's request but Sherlock's not there. Not in his room or the bathroom or even in John's room. He researches the rooms and flats nearby but it is just Dr. Watson roaming around with the windows open and his button up shirt unbuttoned. Moran focuses on him for a while. The sun seems to have stained his skin because the dreadful England whether hasn't faded that Afghanistan tan. Moran wonders if John's skin is as warm as he is, if he takes lovers slow and gentle or with a fiery passion. Moran grits his teeth at the realization that he still aches for it. After that first year it seems to have gotten worse, until now when he peeps on him in the apartment making tea.

 _You've been doing well, you deserve a treat._

Moran smiles and shakes his head, but he stays where he is and watches John Watson. He will take advantage of his treat. He shifts to a better vantage point and takes in John Watson, aging like wine. The confidence and success that radiate off of him now carry more meaning, more years of experience to back it up. He looks remarkable, even next to one like Sherlock, but you have to look to see it. He is hidden in plain sight, Moran knows, Moriarty knows and Sherlock knows that. Moran feels a surge of possessiveness. John is his Army Captain, Doctor, Golden Boy. No. John has never been his.

 _Do well enough and I'll get him for you._

Moran smirks. It's unethical, but he knows he'll do it. He'll do whatever it takes. He cherishes the burn of summer heat for a chance to see skin, so there's no way he wouldn't risk hellfire for more.

 **Understood**

 **TDS:** review! :)


End file.
